The Hare and the Tortoise: pacing practice with a chronic illness
By Nicola Warner
Studying an instrument, we are told time and time again about the merits of slow, mindful practice. Cranking up the metronome on a wing and a prayer is rarely the answer - but do we listen? As a cellist living with chronic fatigue, I have had to come to terms with slowness both within my body, and creative process. Since contracting glandular fever during conservatoire auditions, I have struggled with debilitating physical fatigue, reduced mobility and immune system issues, retrospectively diagnosed as post-viral ME/CFS. I still have the ambition to grow as a musician, but heavily-impaired physical and cognitive stamina present a challenge to this.
Living life (temporarily) under-tempo, the moral of Aesop’s fable, The Hare and The Tortoise resonates now more than ever. “Slow and steady wins the race” has become a mantra when I am tempted to do more than is sustainable within a day. If I beg and bargain for extra energy, I eventually build up a corporal debt resulting in a crash and being confined to bed. In pursuit of recovery, I use pacing, the physiotherapy technique originally developed to aid elite athletes with optimal energy distribution. My body operates like a faulty battery with no opportunity to recharge. To get to the end of the day with a little bit left in the tank, I rely on timers to balance activity with rest. The metronome never lies and, unfortunately, neither does the stopwatch.
Rereading the fable, I have new-found sympathy for the boastful hare. Losing, after bragging he would be victorious, usually aims to warn that “pride comes before a fall”. Putting myself in his running shoes, I wonder why the hare stopped to sleep. What if his downfall was not arrogance but denial?
The hare sensed something wasn’t right within his body. Reluctant to make excuses for himself, he shrugged off the recent sparring match losses and his markedly more lethargic lap times. He challenged the tortoise to a race in hope that he would prove to himself that things weren’t as bad as he dreaded deep down. Yes, he has been feeling unbalanced, fatigued - but surely not as sluggish as a tortoise. What sort of hare in his prime can’t even beat a tortoise? At the starting line, he sprinted off at his once habitual pace, leaving the tortoise plodding in his trail. “This is fine”, he told himself repeatedly, striding onwards. But as he ran, a pernicious dullness crept into his legs until his limbs felt so leaden he eventually crashed out at the side of the road. Waking groggily with no idea of his location, he saw his leisurely competitor about to cross the finish line, in pure horror: what had happened?
My time at music college was somewhat of a false start. In hindsight, I pushed through the first term unaware of the cause, or severity of the symptoms I had been experiencing. Drifting around campus, I felt like a pale spectre of my former self, drained and unable to get a proper grasp on anything in my life. My lecture absences racked up. I unexpectedly failed a performance exam and shortly after my final orchestral project, was hospitalised with an acute kidney infection. Fading in and out of consciousness under the bleak glare of hospital lighting, I wondered how I had pushed so hard, yet fallen so short. During my convalescence, I finally admitted to my teacher that, although I had the drive, I had been battling with unexplained health issues and needed to interrupt my studies.
Adapting my daily routine to an acquired disability has been an internal contest: the crash and burn hare vs the steady, but consistent, tortoise. In order to escape a cycle of boom and bust, my relationship with practice needed to change. There have been multiple periods in which I have been too unwell to play. On a better day, I can practise for around thirty precious minutes. During this hiatus, I have been extremely fortunate to study with a compassionate teacher who has enabled me to work within my current limitations. My fear was regressing and falling behind, but the biggest shock has been that I’ve continued to make incremental progress and my practice feels more efficient than before. Rebuilding my approach to the cello from the ground up, I have learned several lessons; albeit not in a way that I would have chosen, or ever wish on anyone else:
Creating a practice ritual
Consistency, consistency, consistency. Sanctifying my home every day with long, mindful bows has accumulated in ways I could never have predicted. Limiting distractions and setting up with the things I like to have at hand to create quality time. For me, it’s the holy trinity of: water bottle, metronome and cuppa. I become incredibly frustrated that although I am very motivated, I only have half an hour of viable time. Learning to trust in the process: efficient chunks over several days add up to progress by the end of the week
2. Balancing a framework with freedom
How do you put a time boundary on flow state? It’s a whole challenge of its own not just getting lost in practice, or even putting my cello down when my time is up. I like to mix it up; sometimes I start with a clear plan subdivided into intentional, five-minute chunks, other times I look at one piece and explore, punctuated by timers.
3. Start with the end in mind
Playing the long game. I don’t have the stamina to play pieces in their entirety, or even at performance tempo. One of the pitfalls of slow practice is that it can obscure structure and harmony but I try to visualise that end goal in my head and always prepare for concert tempo.
4. Turn down the inner tyrant
Ah yes, “Shit FM”. The pirate radio station which has invaded your inner peace. Constantly berating myself makes for deeply unfulfilling and draining practice sessions. I find it helps to take a step back and tap into a nurturing teacher who wants to problem-solve in pursuit of getting closer to what I hear in my mind’s ear. If in doubt, I go back to the fundamentals - there’s usually something there to work on objectively and dial down the voice in my head.
5. Know yourself and your limits
If I set the bar at six hours of practice daily, I’d feel like a failure every day. I often do: but through trial and error, I know that consistent, manageable chunks are better for my health and morale than overdoing it and crashing. Everyone has a limit and can risk burn out. If your relationship with practice feels disordered, TMDTA has some insightful episodes and resources.
I would like to acknowledge that although my physical health is poor and has a profound impact on my life, for those with severe ME/CFS any semblance of a traditional practice routine may be completely impossible. If your priority at present has to be complete rest and taking care of your body, then preserving your spirit is creative practice enough. There is a certain resilience which comes with the life-long learning required to be a musician. I’ve outlined what is currently within my power, but this doesn’t negate the unrelenting frustration and grief I feel for my life before. On darker days, I have to remind myself that putting my cello in its case and never touching it again was always an option; I have made a choice. In this marathon, my cello has become my trusty pacemaker and I am so grateful to have it along for the journey.
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Nicola Warner
I am a cellist and conductor from Hertfordshire on an interruption of postgraduate studies due to poor physical health. Although The Hare and the Tortoise is about the time spent alone with my cello, no musician is an island and most things I do would not be possible without significant assistance from others (you know who you are). I would like to thank and acknowledge the charities who have supported me during this abeyance including: The National Youth Arts Trust, Hitchin Youth Trust and the Benslow Musical Instrument Loan Scheme.
In the spirit of Hattie and Rebecca's bios, I am also: an espresso drinker, recovering over-thinker, disciple of the holy church of hoop earrings, cat-less cat person, strawberry Carmex addict, advocate for Chicken Run (2000) being a feminist classic that 100% passes the Bechdel test and Dymo label maker evangelist (get one, it will change your life).